Then they rested, and I rested.
Veintiuno
The days grew warmer and the Blue Lake opened for swimming, but Cico and I avoided the glistening, naked boys who dared the deep-blue power of the lake. Instead we worked our way around the teeming lake and towards the creek. It was time for the arrival of the golden carp!
“He will come today,” Cico whispered, “the white sun is just right.” He pointed up at the dazzling sky. Around us the earth seemed to groan as it grew green. We had waited many days, but today we were sure he would come. We crawled through the green thicket and sat by the edge of the pond. Around us sang the chorus of insects which had just worked their way out of winter nests and cocoons.
While we waited time flowed through me and filled me with many thoughts. I was still concerned with the silence of God at communion . Every Saturday since Easter I had gone to confession, and every Sunday morning I went to the railing and took communion . I prepared my body and my thoughts for receiving God, but there was no communication from Him. Sometimes, in moments of great anxiety and disappointment, I wondered if God was alive anymore, or if He ever had been. He had not been able to cure my uncle Lucas or free the Téllez family from their curse, and He had not been able to save Lupito or Narciso. And yet, He had the right to send you to hell or heaven when you died.
“It doesn’t seem right—” I said aloud.
“What?” Cico asked.
“God.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Then why do you go to church?” I asked.
“My mother believes—” he answered, “I go to please her—”
“I used to think everyone believed in God,” I said.
“There are many gods,” Cico whispered, “gods of beauty and magic, gods of the garden, gods in our own backyards—but we go off to foreign countries to find new ones, we reach to the stars to find new ones—”
“Why don’t we tell others of the golden carp?” I asked.
“They would kill him,” Cico whispered. “The god of the church is a jealous god; he cannot live in peace with other gods. He would instruct his priests to kill the golden carp—”
“What if I become a priest, like my mother wants me to—”
“You have to choose, Tony,” Cico said, “you have to choose between the god of the church, or the beauty that is here and now—” He pointed and I looked into the dark, clear water of the creek. Two brown carp swam from under the thicket into the open.
“He comes—” We held our breath and peered into the water beneath the overhanging thicket. The two brown carp had seen us, and now they circled and waited for their master. The sun glittered off his golden scales.
“It’s him!”
The golden fish swam by gracefully, cautiously, as if testing the water after a long sleep in his subterranean waters. His powerful tail moved in slow strokes as he slid through the water towards us. He was beautiful; he was truly a god. The white sun reflected off his bright orange scales and the glistening glorious light blinded us and filled us with the rapture true beauty brings. Seeing him made questions and worries evaporate, and I remained transfixed, caught and caressed by the essential elements of sky and earth and water. The sun warmed us with its life-giving power, and up in the sky a white moon smiled on us.
“Damn, he’s beautiful—” Cico whistled as the golden carp glided by.
“Yes,” I agreed, and for a long time we did not speak. The arrival of the golden carp rendered us silent. We let the sun beat down on us, and like pagans we listened to the lapping water and the song of life in the grass around us.
Whose priest will I be, I thought. The idea that there could be other gods besides the God of heaven ran through my mind. Was the golden carp a god of beauty, a god of here and now like Cico said. He made the world peaceful—
“Cico,” I said, “let’s tell Florence!” It was not right, I thought, that Florence did not know. Florence needed at least one god, and I was sure he would believe in the golden carp. I could almost hear him say as he peered into the waters, “at last, a god who does not punish, a god who can bring beauty into my life—”
“Yes,” Cico said after a long pause, “I think Florence is ready. He has been ready for a long time; he doesn’t have gods to choose between.”
“Does one have to choose?” I asked. “Is it possible to have both?”
“Perhaps,” he answered. “The golden carp accepts all magic that is good, but your God, Tony, is a jealous God. He does not accept competition—” Cico laughed cynically.