"Mashed potatoes?"
The bent man squinted through bloodshot eyes at Aaron, who stood ready with an ice cream scoop full of spuds. The scrunched-up face lined with gray stubble leaned toward him, which caused the man's body to stumble to keep balance. Aaron waited, amused not at the man but his own patience.
The man looked down at his plate. "Y-yeah."
Aaron plopped a potato igloo on the plate. The man peered at the mound, then up at Aaron again.
"Another? Sure." Aaron rolled another load into the scoop, dropped it deftly onto the plate. "Gravy?" With his right hand, he lifted the loaded ladle. At the man's nod, he poured the giblet gravy over both mounds, but they looked a little dry, so he ladled out another portion.
The man grinned, front teeth missing in action. "Th-thanks, kid."
Aaron nodded, turned his attention to the next person. Christmas Eve, and here's Aaron Lee Fairfax in a church building doling out portions of mashed potatoes and gravy to homeless people. The irony was doubled because he—and Ken, Virginia, Tontine, Miguel and Marian—technically also were homeless, but better off, so the destitute haves were helping serve the destitute have nots. The Salvation Army had found itself strapped and put out a call for volunteers. Because it was Christmas Eve, and because it was in a church, and because the Army wanted to send them 60 miles north to Santa Fe, they figured it was safe enough. The Army provided the electric van and Tontine drove.
"As a bonus, we get to see the farolito display there," Virginia had said.
"You mean luminaria," Ken said.
"No, I mean farolito."
"Luminaria."
The argument had continued off and on the whole trip, but Aaron had no idea what they were talking about. Part of the meal they were serving was fairly traditional—turkey roast, dressing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and the like—but also spiced with a different tradition: posole, tamales, enchiladas, sopapillas, carne adovada.
"This sure ain't Taco Bell," he had said of that spicy cuisine while getting his third serving from a beaming cook.
"Aaron, I'll take over now." Beth, one of the local volunteers, smiled down at him.
"Is my shift up already?"
"No, but something's on TV Virginia said you might be interested in. In the library downstairs."
"OK." He handed her the ice cream scoop and dashed down the stairs, where he found his group gathered around an HDTV flatscreen monitor.
"What's up?"
"Look who's on," Marian said.
"Well, well. Alisa and Harold. On display again?"
"If Brigman ever gets through sermonizing," Virginia said. "He's been going on for an hour. Really inspired, though. The congregation has been responding like an old-time revival."
"That should not be surprising," said a slim woman in an elegant skirt and blouse, light hair framing a wide, sculpted face and sharp blue eyes: the church's minister, The Rev. something Rose. "Jim Brigman started preaching in front of abortion clinics at the age of ten. By the time he was fifteen, he'd started his own church, the results of which you see around him."
Indeed, the monitor showed arching metal beams sweeping upward out of sight toward the ten-story spire, the icon of the church. Three-story-tall stained-glass windows rose above the Choir of a Hundred Joyous Voices, one window showing the Nativity, the other the Resurrection, each window glowing with light. A cross as tall as the windows hung on the wall between; the figure of Christ and the vertical post were said to have been carved out of one California Redwood tree.
The view switched to a tight shot of Brigman, clothed in blue, left arm extended, palm out, head bathed in a cone of light.
" . . .must ignore the detractors." His oration flowed as mellifluous as audible wine. "We live in the pinnacle of the times described in the Bible, the culmination of the plan as set forth in that Great Book. These children are the embodiments of God's will. They are the living proof of the majesty of His love, the power of His word, the glory of His Kingdom. Through them, we will live again; through them, we will find the way to life eternal; through them, we find the Glory of God."
The camera pulled back enough to show Harold seated in a white chair behind and to Brigman's right, Alisa to his left.
"Welcome these children into your hearts." Brigman stepped back, arms spread. Both got up and stepped to his side. "Welcome them into your lives as symbols, as miracles, as true light to redemption."
"Look at that dress," Marian said. "I haven't seen that many frills on a Barbie doll. And that pink bow on her head—ugh."
"Yeah," Aaron said. "And how did a former used-car salesman allow himself to be talked into wearing a white suit with short pants and knee socks? I wonder what he really thinks about all this."
"You are seriously underestimating Reverend Brigman," said Rev. Rose. "He can be very persuasive. The Miracle Children and Time of Touching have pulled in about a thousand followers a week, but I assure you, that is not Reverend Brigman's intent despite what others say. He fervently believes in what he is saying. That power of that belief is what makes him so effective."
Brigman guided Harold and Alisa to the edge of the raised stage, then again extended his arms. He looked up into the heights of the cathedral and closed his eyes. "Let us pray," the voice boomed.
The camera angle switched to the right and behind the trio. In the background, the many faces out of focus formed a rippling tapestry of shape and color.
"Sounds like there's goin' to be another time of grabbin'," Ken said, slurring slightly.
"Time of Touching," Virginia said without taking her eyes off the screen.
"Whatever. What's the idea?"
"To pass the healing done to the Rewound Children to sufferers." Rev. Rose wrapped her arms around herself. "The scientists are saying now a woman who might have had breast cancer not only has been cured, but her genes have been fixed so she'll never get it again." She rubbed her neck. "Can you imagine the hope and longing that creates in the souls of ordinary mortals, those who can't walk, can't move without aid, can't control their own bodies? A mighty powerful inducement to believe in miracles. All you need is someone who can help you believe."
Aaron suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The expression on her face seemed a mixture of loathing for the person who was doing the exploiting—and yet a yearning to believe it was all possible. He glanced at Marian, but he couldn't read her face.
"Something's going on," Tontine said.
The activity still was out of focus but agitated nonetheless. Brigman prayed on.
"Looks like a bunch of 'em 're jumpin' the gun," Ken said.
A knot of people spread out of the background, headed toward Brigman.
"Oh!" Virginia said. "They knocked that man in the wheelchair over—"
Shouts began to filter through the prayer.
"Oh, God in heaven," the minister said. "He's worked them into a frenzy."
Now the surge reached the stage. Alisa stepped back, but someone grabbed a foot. She in turn grabbed the pulpit, tried to kick her way free.
"For the love of God, get those children out of there." Rev. Rose's hands clenched into fists.
Brigman began to realize something was amiss. More hands grabbed Alisa, yanking her forward. Others snatched at Harold, who dodged while he moved toward Alisa.
"Brothers and sisters, please, the time has not yet—" An elbow knocked him aside. Blue-coated figures tried to push the crowd back, but they might as well have tried to push back a wall of water.
"Look, even the choir is gettin' into this," Ken said as green-and-red robed figures leaped over a small bannister.
"On whose side?" Tontine said.
The blue-clads battled to form a circle around Brigman, who was bent over holding his face, blood spurting from under a hand. Screams, shouts, and curses reverberated from the cathedral walls as the mass behind pinned the people in front against the stage. A blue-clad grabbed Alisa's arms, but she was torn from his grasp. Harold hadn't even gotten near her; now he tried to run off the stage toward the camera, veering as someone charged in. A flying tackle by a man in a checkered coat brought him down hard on the stage. In the next second, he disappeared under a squirming mass of bodies. The camera suddenly jolted askew, but it still caught Alisa who was borne aloft by hands grasping and ripping her dress and pulling the bow from her hair. A few blue-clads slugged and flailed as they tried to get at her, but they made no headway against the tide. Long and piercing screams sounded over and over, and curses never uttered in that place before blasted out of the speakers. Brigman disappeared from view, and a surge carried Alisa toward the pulpit, her legs kicking feebly. Arms grasping like tentacles yanked and pulled at her in every direction, and the microphones at the pulpit began to pick up her thin screams. She let out one long wail, which cut off suddenly. Her body jerked up and flipped over, then disappeared behind the pulpit.
"Dear God—"
"Jesus—"
"Motherf—"
The room spun around Aaron. He heard a sound behind him and turned to see Marian dashing through the door.
"Marian!" He followed, but she had fled into the night. Before the front door had swung shut, he was through it and running hard.
"Marian!" He forced himself into a faster pace, but if there was one thing he found out about her now, it was that she was swift. One block whipped by, then another and she didn't slow one step. She cut down a different street, and Aaron pulled out all stops, trying to get around that same corner. She weaved and cut through knots of strollers, hair flying behind her like wings. He gasped when she leaped over a street barrier without even slowing.
If she can, I—
"Arrghuh!" He cleared it with room to spare. Earl's onto something here . . .. He shoved the thought aside, dashing through a line of slow-moving cars, concentrating on his zigzagging quarry, now crossing a parklike area. He feared losing her in the milling crowd, but she suddenly pulled up, took two faltering steps and collapsed on a park bench. He dashed to the bench, sat down beside her, pulled her into his arms—
And found, again, he had no words of comfort. "Marian," he said lamely. Alisa's last scream tore through his mind again and again, Harold's last desperate dash played again and again. "Oh, Marian, Marian. MarianMarianMarianMarian."
She sobbed into the crook of his arm; he buried his face into her clean-smelling hair, tears wetting the strands. He tried hard to keep the sobs in check, not because he was a man and was supposed to, but because he would lose control completely if he didn't. He felt her trembling as she wept, but was she trembling any worse than he was? This makes five. Five down, twelve to go. Even in the church, there's no safety. "Marian, Marian, Marian," he murmured softly.
Eventually her sobs softened, and he felt her relax, although she didn't lift her head. He held her against him as they rocked slightly on the bench. He took a deep breath, slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head. As he did so, he became aware of a soft glow around them. The glow was more than just the multicolored lights in the two evergreen trees standing like sentinels to their right and more lights spiraling up an obelisk opposite, culminating in a blue-light star.
The glow seemed to come from thousands of lanterns set along the walks of the park. Aaron looked into one near the bench and found a paper sack, top edge rolled partway down, filled partially with sand where a votive candle had been placed, flame flickering lightly.
"Marian, if you possibly can, take a look." He continued to gaze around him. "I mean, look at this place."
She sniffed, raised her head, glanced at him, cheeks wet. She dried her eyes on her sleeve, then turned her head. She sat stock still a moment, then stood up, turning in a slow circle. The moisture in her eyes reflected scattered pinpoints of light.
"How lovely." A short, sweet laugh escaped. "How extraordinary."
"I wonder—ah, over there." They stepped over to a man in a denim jacket scratching a kitchen match on his pant leg. He stuck the match inside a bag until the candle caught.
"Excuse me," Aaron said, "we're from out of town. Can you tell us what all of this is?"
"Well," the man drawled in a scratchy voice as he straightened, "they're called farolitos. Spanish for little lanterns." The man wore a battered cowboy hat above his weatherbeaten face. Strands of dark hair stuck out from underneath. He wasn't as tall as most adults, but it was hard to judge because of his stoop. He wore a denim jacket over a shirt with diamond-shaped snaps and jeans faded to near-white. A wide, hand-tooled leather belt with a large metal buckle held up those jeans. Pointed cowboy boots, needing polish and with heels worn down on one side, completed the outfit. "Tradition hereabouts." He squinted, reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes. "Every Christmas, the town puts on a big display. One of the things that draws tourists, though plenty of folks around here don't like 'em." He pulled out a bent cigarette, slipped the pack back. He tore the filter off and stuffed it into a jacket pocket, then tapped the untorn end. "The tourists, I mean." He waved a hand at the scene around them. "This is the Plaza. Used to be the center of town. Now the center is out at one of them malls." He stuck the untorn end in his mouth, reached into the shirt pocket again and pulled out a kitchen match. "Anyhow, tradition says the farolitos lit the way for the Christ child, but that's a little farfetched, eh? They didn't have paper sacks in those days." He whipped the match across a pant leg, lit the torn end of the cigarette, cupping it with hands roughened by much manual labor. "Supposition here is that they're imitatin' Chinese lanterns." He blew the match out, stuck it into the jacket pocket. "'Stead of stringin' 'em together and hangin' 'em, we just put 'em on the ground. And on the buildings, 'cept those are electric. Cheap way out. These things are, how do they say, labor intensive, y'see." He knocked an ash into a patch of snow. "Worth it, though. I like 'em. They're soft, not like those garish things they stick in the trees like over yonder. Small breezes cause the whole shebang to waver, like a living thing."
The man was right. The light danced gently around the rows of sacks.
"Amazing."
Marian shivered. "They don't put out much heat, though."
Aaron suddenly felt the cold, too. "Yeah. Maybe we'd better get back."
"You kids all right? Y'looked kind of upset over there. Is anythin' wrong?"
"We, uh, received word tonight some, um, friends died. It was quite a shock."
"That is too bad. And on this night, too. I'm really sorry. Your parents around?"
"Um, back at the church, probably."
"Well, look, why don't I give you a lift? My pickup ain't much to look at, but it warms fast enough—"
"Over there!" Miguel's voice. He, Tontine, Ken, Virginia, and the minister ran toward them from across the Plaza.
"That won't be necessary. Here they are now," Marian said. "Probably a little upset with us. Thanks so much for the offer."
"Good, good. Well, take care now. Don't let life get y'down too much." He pointed with his cigarette. "I see another candle's gone out." He ambled off.
Virginia held out Marian's coat and Tontine Aaron's as they stepped up. "You guys certainly could've outrun us if you'd wanted," Virginia puffed.
Marian slipped her arms into the jacket. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run away like that. It was a stu—"
"Forget it," Virginia said, helping her pull her hair out from underneath the jacket. "I know exactly why you did. No more need be said."
"Yes," Rev. Rose said. "Only prayers will help your friends, now. I just don't believe—" She shook her head. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know."
"Thank you," Marian said.
"We got sidetracked by the farl—what did he call them?" Aaron said, working his body into the down jacket, another prize from Marian's largesse.
"Farolitos," Virginia said.
"You likely got an earful," Rev. Rose said. "That's one of our town characters."
"Mmmmhmmm." Marian smiled.
"Except they're lumin—" Ken began.
"Pipe down." Virginia jabbed him with an elbow. "Here, they're called farolitos. This, however, pales to the real show up along the Acequia Madre. If you're up to it, we'll take the walking tour. It's the only way to go. They block the streets off." She placed a hand on Marian's shoulder. "It'll help distract from some disturbing images."
"I'm game."
"I must get back to the church," the minister said.
"Oh, we must help—" Marian started.
Rev. Rose waved her hand. "Never mind. The crowds are thinning. We can finish." She took a deep breath, looked around at the hundreds of glowing sacks. "Out among the rows of farolitos, perhaps you'll find comfort. And evidence of the true Christmas spirit."
* * *
[[" . . .the Tulsa hospital just issued a terse statement confirming the deaths of Harold Coner and Alisa Bardnoth. The statement did not give a cause of death for either. Coner, who had just turned thirty-two, and Bardnoth, twenty-nine, were among the Rewound Children. Reverend Brigman had adopted them, and lately had been claiming they were signs of miracles from God with the power to cure.
"Although no one at the church has issued a statement, CNN has learned both Coner and Bardnoth died at the scene. Sources say Coner was asphyxiated when several people fell on top of him. In Bardnoth's case, she was the victim of a tug-of-war, and the source said her neck was broken.
"Three other people also died in the melee, said the source, including two who had been confined to wheelchairs. Thirty-six injuries of various degrees are being reported, more than twenty of those requiring hospitalization . . ."]]
* * *
Marian closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in the back seat of her parents' car, traveling through the night, Mother and Father talking in low tones in the front seat as the air rushed by the windows. Opening her eyes destroyed the illusion. For one thing, she was facing backward, looking out at the lights of Santa Fe receding into the night. Still, there was security here as Miguel guided the van along the highway.
Virginia was right—the residential farolito display had been spectacular: little glowing sacks by the thousands, along the tops of walls, the edges of all the streets and driveways, along the roofs and some even resting in tree branches. A small elementary school had been transformed into a wonderland of flickering lights. All candle-powered—no electricity allowed. Occasionally the group came across a blazing fire of short logs stacked in a square, sending fragrant smoke out into the neighborhood now crowded with sightseers.
"That is a luminaria," Virginia had said as they approached one. Ken didn't answer; he was too busy accepting a paper cup of hot chocolate from the keepers of the flame.
After the midnight service back at the adobe-styled church—now adorned with its own farolitos—she had asked Aaron, "Did you feel anything at the service?"
"Safe," he said. "Not worried that anyone was going to grab me and try to make me cure their psoriasis."
"That's all?"
He turned to her, breath fogging in the cold air. "I've always said church is a place to go to be with people like yourself, where you don't have to worry about being politically correct in what you say, or worry about sitting next to persons of different races, or have to grit your teeth in order to be tolerant of someone else's faith. A sanctuary against the real world, in effect. Tonight, though, I felt at peace, surrounded by friends. Despite certain events in other so-called churches." He rubbed his nose with a gloved finger.
"Some people call it love, Aaron."
The mood lingered even now in the van. She hadn't been much of a churchgoer before June, and she wasn't sure if there was anything there that could help her now. Aaron was right, though—just being surrounded by friends eased the pain of seeing two more die.
As they had prepared to head back to Albuquerque, Tontine had approached.
"Um," he'd started with uncharacteristic awkwardness, "we, um, would like to give a lift to Sam and Louise. They need a ride home. It's, uh, it's right on our way."
"Where?" she had asked.
"Off the highway."
"Where?"
"We won't be there long."
"Where?"
"Waldo exit."
"Oh, you mean the Holn landing site. I didn't know anyone still lived there."
His face relaxed. "A few who haven't decided when, or if, they'll leave. You don't mind?"
"No. What's there to be frightened of, now?"
The road to the site had been paved when the state realized the Holn were going to be a big draw. Instead of the jam of semipermanent buildings, however, only a few mobile homes now huddled together against the cold.
"We'll be a few minutes," Tontine said. "We want to do some trading."
Marian saw Aaron look down the road where it disappeared into darkness. "Is that flashlight still here?" he blurted. "I'm going over to the landing site." He reached under a seat and pulled out a long, black tube.
"Me too," Marian said.
"All right," Tontine said. "Miguel, go with them. We'll honk when we're ready."
The flashlight beam illuminated a spot of road before them as they walked. A few scattered farolitos sat around the dwellings, and a small tree glittered with tiny lights. The air was crisp and the sky clear. Aaron pointed the light at the solid yellow line down the center of the road.
"The DMZ," he said.
"Did you ever come see this, Miguel?" Marian asked.
"No. I had to make sure I got a green card first, find a job. I'm trying to save enough to bring the girl I want to marry to the United States."
"How sweet," she said.
"This is the side I came up on," Aaron said, sweeping the circle of light among the low brush and grass. "The optimists. There was a whole community over there." Now the flashlight just showed scraggly bushes, an occasional rock, but mostly flat, unadorned ground.
They crunched their way through a patch of snow.
"May I borrow that?" Marian took the flashlight and played it along the road to their right. Gone were the camo man and his knives, the youth with the lurid paintings, the Bible ladies.
"I wonder what they felt when they watched the ship leave," she said. "Sorrow, anger, disappointment?"
"Poor," Aaron said. "Their money was fleeing."
"And their way of life. And their hopes, their dreams." She handed the flashlight back to Aaron.
He played the light ahead of them, catching a gray boulder the size of a picnic cooler in the beam. "That rock marked the food court. The carnita stand was back there, whatever a carnita is. I can still smell the aroma."
"So can I. Made my stomach rumble."
Another twenty meters and the pavement came to an abrupt halt. Ahead was emptiness.
"I will wait here," Miguel said quietly.
Aaron handed the flashlight to him. "It looks pretty smooth. We're not going far."
Their hands found each other's as they stepped forward.
"I said there wasn't anything to be afraid of now," Marian said, "so why is my heart beating so fast?"
"It's the thought of them returning suddenly and landing in this very spot, burning us into crispy carnitas."
They walked down into a shallow depression that had been scooped out by the blast from the ship.
"Where were we found?"
"I don't know. They keep saying on a hillside, but I don't see any hills. I remember a mound the newspeople charged down, I think, maybe, over there."
"Where our lives were changed. And where Charlie, Perry, Sandra, Alisa and Harold began their journey toward death."
She saw Aaron's head shake. "Alisa and Harold—what was that all about? I just can't—Christ."
"The faces of those people—animals." Marian shivered, unconsciously taking a step toward Aaron. They bumped, and Aaron slid an arm around her shoulders. She slipped one around his midback, pressing her body against his. Marian closed her eyes.
"Who's next? Who'll be the next victim of the crap-shoot—"
Aaron kissed her forehead. "Hush."
She put her head on his shoulder, his hair tickling her nose, and took several deep breaths. She opened her eyes and raised her head, then stepped away.
"At night, before I go to sleep, I get scared. I see the glowing ceiling of the museum, the light blue walls and the silver floor. All nice and human. Then I see awful shapes and my body shrinks and I scream in pain—"
"Is it just the dreams?"
She stepped away, started walking in a circle, Aaron at its center. "I think I remember a room without corners, curved ceiling not far above, glowing the full length of my body. I envision arms without bodies, lights pulsing in my eyes. I'm on my back, I can't move . . ."
"And there's a soft chiming coming from behind."
"Yes. The sound of moving air."
"A quiet whirr, like machinery."
She stopped. "Then I woke up, sunlight beating down on me, roaring in my ears and the ground shaking. I'm naked, my blouse and pants folded neatly next to me."
"I can feel a touch, in that curved room, something warm and yielding against my neck. Then I woke up with all the world's media staring at my bare butt."
She kicked at the ground. "I don't know who I am anymore."
"Your cat does. From the moment you opened the carrier, he had no doubts you were the mistress who had given him food, shelter and love. Even if you weren't the same size."
"Yeah." She started her circling again.
"I lost everything I owned, everything I'd built up, everything I had been," Aaron said. "I have nearly gone crazy. But the one thing I do not regret, the one thing I see as good coming out of this, is knowing you. I have drawn strength from you."
"How can you do that? I get mine from you." She reached out and fumbled for his hand. "Now I'm just waiting with fear as the future comes hurtling at me."
Aaron pulled her into his arms, and they embraced, hard. "I know that fear," he mumbled into her hair.
After a moment, he pushed her to arm's length, evidently studying her in the dark.
"Marian, marry me."
"Aren't we too young, or immature, or something?"
"Probably. But if—when—we grow up again, and you once again become the lovely woman I saw in the Holn ship, just remember who asked you first."
"I will remember." Marian wasn't sure if he could see the smile in the dark, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and embraced him; his return embrace was strong. Their cheeks slid together, and lips met, briefly, but she turned her head.
"I-I'm not ready."
"The hugs are plenty for now."
A soft laugh escaped her as they tightened their grips on each other. She looked up past his shoulder.
"Oh," she pushed back, "look at the stars."
Aaron craned his neck. "Whoa. Let's see if I can remember Virginia's astronomy lessons."
He pointed toward the glittering array. "North, Big Dipper, yes, bowl stars pointing to Polaris—"
"And Ursa Minor—"
"With Draco snaking around along there—"
"Cassiopeia over there, the big W—"
"Right, and Pegasus, but can't quite see Andromeda Galaxy—"
"And look, the Milky Way crossing along here, and Orion over—oh."
Orion dominated the southern sky. Marian had not paid attention to the constellations before, but this one pattern snared her and held her, glittering perfect against the black sky.
"And under that line of stars of his belt," Aaron said softly, "is where new stars are being born. And new worlds."
"New worlds," she repeated softly.
After a moment, he said, "This is a good spot to contemplate the mysteries of the universe." He slowly turned, looking up. "Such as, what's Tontine's real name?"
Marian giggled. "'Yes, we're just tiny specks on a planet particle, hurling through the infinite blackness.'"
"That sounds so glum. Who said that?"
"Calvin."
"The theologian?"
"No, the boy in the old comic strip. He and his tiger were contemplating the heavens just like we are. After a few more minutes of gazing, Calvin demands they go into the house and turn on all the lights."
Aaron laughed. "Star light, star bright. They've touched us, Marian, you and I. Maybe that's why we're so bedazzled by them tonight. They've reached across the vast distances and touched us—" He laughed again. "Yeah. Look who's waxing poetic."
Marian fell silent. Nothing moved around them, no breeze ruffled hair, no animal skittered in the brush, no vehicle rumbled on the distant interstate. Just the two of them, linked together, sharing warmth, staring into the flickering depths of night.
Five minutes later, when Miguel came to get them, they were still staring skyward.