covered with wire netting to protect the few remaining pieces of stained glass, adding to the church’s dark, forbidding atmosphere. Any color was provided by the schoolgirls, who were dressed in bright pastels. I liked the Catholic custom of not wearing mourning for the funeral of a child.
Lotty was sitting by herself about two thirds of the way up the aisle, looking severe in black. I went up to sit next to her, Burgoyne trailing meekly in my wake. In a hasty undertone I performed introductions. Lotty nodded briefly.
The organ played softly as people went to the front of the church to kneel at the flower-laden coffins. Mrs. Alvarado sat in the front row with her five other children. I could see the back of her head nod stiffly as various people stopped to condole with her.
The music increased a few decibels. Under its cover, Lotty leaned her head next to my ear and muttered, “Fabiano’s sitting three rows up with his mother. Take a look at him.”
I followed her discreetly pointing finger, but could see only his slouched shoulders and a one-eighth view of his face. I raised inquiring eyebrows at Lotty.
“Go up to the front and catch his face on your way back.”
I obediently wriggled past Burgoyne and joined the pious procession to the coffins. Casting a perfunctory glance at the flowers and the photograph on Consuelo’s, and avoiding a look at the miniature box next to her, I turned to Mrs. Alvarado. She accepted my courtesies with a sorrowful smile. I gave Carol’s hand a quick squeeze and turned back down the aisle.
Looking soberly at the floor, I sneaked an oblique glance at Fabiano. I was so startled that I nearly lost my composure. Someone had worked him over thoroughly. His face was badly swollen, covered in purples and blacks that made my wound look like a shaving cut.
Burgoyne got up to let me back into the pew.
“Who did that?” I demanded of Lotty.
She hunched a shoulder. “I thought you might know. His mother showed up at the clinic this morning to get a salve for him, but since he wouldn’t come with her, I couldn’t let her have anything. She made him come to the funeral- Carol told me he was going to stay away.”
One of the traditionally garbed nuns a few rows in front of us turned to give us a basilisk glare, putting a forefinger to her lips. We obediently lapsed into silence, but as the processional started, Lotty muttered at me again. “You’re wearing your gun, aren’t you?” I grinned but didn’t say anything, concentrating my attention on the priest.
The mass was conducted in Spanish, at such a rapid rate that I couldn’t follow it. Conseulo’s schoolmates sang an anthem, and the priest preached a sermon in Spanish, which I picked up parts of. Consuelo’s name figured a number of times, as did Victoria Charlotte’s. I gathered that we were bemoaning the cutting off of life before it had had a chance to flower, but that God would sort it all out at some later date. This struck me as pretty grim counsel, but from what I’d seen of Mrs. Alvarado it probably satisfied her reasonably well.
It took a scant forty minutes to do all this, including giving communion to all the frilly dressed girls and the Alvarados. The organ piped up again and the church began to empty. Burgoyne made his way against the tide to Mrs. Alvarado. I leaned back and rubbed my eyes.
“I’ve done all I think I’m up to,” I announced to Lotty. “Are you going to the cemetery with them?”
She grimaced. “I’m no crazier about this charade of piety than you are. Besides, I need to get back to the clinic. Mondays are our busiest day and I don’t have Carol to help me… Your face is looking better. How are you feeling?”
I made a face. “Oh, more bruised in spirit than body, I guess. I’m a little nervous of what Sergio will do after the police pick him up. And it makes me really nervous to think I was so far off base on
Lotty was sitting by herself about two thirds of the way up the aisle, looking severe in black. I went up to sit next to her, Burgoyne trailing meekly in my wake. In a hasty undertone I performed introductions. Lotty nodded briefly.
The organ played softly as people went to the front of the church to kneel at the flower-laden coffins. Mrs. Alvarado sat in the front row with her five other children. I could see the back of her head nod stiffly as various people stopped to condole with her.
The music increased a few decibels. Under its cover, Lotty leaned her head next to my ear and muttered, “Fabiano’s sitting three rows up with his mother. Take a look at him.”
I followed her discreetly pointing finger, but could see only his slouched shoulders and a one-eighth view of his face. I raised inquiring eyebrows at Lotty.
“Go up to the front and catch his face on your way back.”
I obediently wriggled past Burgoyne and joined the pious procession to the coffins. Casting a perfunctory glance at the flowers and the photograph on Consuelo’s, and avoiding a look at the miniature box next to her, I turned to Mrs. Alvarado. She accepted my courtesies with a sorrowful smile. I gave Carol’s hand a quick squeeze and turned back down the aisle.
Looking soberly at the floor, I sneaked an oblique glance at Fabiano. I was so startled that I nearly lost my composure. Someone had worked him over thoroughly. His face was badly swollen, covered in purples and blacks that made my wound look like a shaving cut.
Burgoyne got up to let me back into the pew.
“Who did that?” I demanded of Lotty.
She hunched a shoulder. “I thought you might know. His mother showed up at the clinic this morning to get a salve for him, but since he wouldn’t come with her, I couldn’t let her have anything. She made him come to the funeral- Carol told me he was going to stay away.”
One of the traditionally garbed nuns a few rows in front of us turned to give us a basilisk glare, putting a forefinger to her lips. We obediently lapsed into silence, but as the processional started, Lotty muttered at me again. “You’re wearing your gun, aren’t you?” I grinned but didn’t say anything, concentrating my attention on the priest.
The mass was conducted in Spanish, at such a rapid rate that I couldn’t follow it. Conseulo’s schoolmates sang an anthem, and the priest preached a sermon in Spanish, which I picked up parts of. Consuelo’s name figured a number of times, as did Victoria Charlotte’s. I gathered that we were bemoaning the cutting off of life before it had had a chance to flower, but that God would sort it all out at some later date. This struck me as pretty grim counsel, but from what I’d seen of Mrs. Alvarado it probably satisfied her reasonably well.
It took a scant forty minutes to do all this, including giving communion to all the frilly dressed girls and the Alvarados. The organ piped up again and the church began to empty. Burgoyne made his way against the tide to Mrs. Alvarado. I leaned back and rubbed my eyes.
“I’ve done all I think I’m up to,” I announced to Lotty. “Are you going to the cemetery with them?”
She grimaced. “I’m no crazier about this charade of piety than you are. Besides, I need to get back to the clinic. Mondays are our busiest day and I don’t have Carol to help me… Your face is looking better. How are you feeling?”
I made a face. “Oh, more bruised in spirit than body, I guess. I’m a little nervous of what Sergio will do after the police pick him up. And it makes me really nervous to think I was so far off base on
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