“Pharmacy?” she thought out loud. “It doesn’t sound quite as exciting, but you seem so determined. I like that about you.”
“I hope that’s not the only thing you like?” he asked, hope filling his voice.
She smiled slyly. “Fully, you don’t expect me to spill all my secrets, do you?” Her tide of whimsy subsided as she sighed reassuringly, “Pharmacy is a good profession, or so my father says.”
He smiled as his world settled back into its familiar order, into the comfort of his illusory dreams. He breathed a sigh of relief because for a moment Carolina had frightened him (as had the mysterious incantations he’d heard). Somehow, the door had been pried open just a crack for the demons of doubt to slip in momentarily. But now all was well. He could feel her soft, sweet breath on his neck as her head rested on his shoulder, quiet now, calm now. For the first time, he felt truly comfortable in her presence as he guided the car around the corner and onward toward the homecoming dance. She now knew his intentions and she had not fled from the vehicle. Instead, for once, she was quiet and at peace. He angled the rearview mirror downward so he could look at her unobtrusively, finding her ruby lips curved into a gentle smile. Her long sloping eyelashes fluttered shut, and she chuckled softly to herself for a moment.
“What?” he asked.
“Fully.”
Seven
The previous evening, Brother William’s boys from the Academy of San Juan del Atole had fully demolished their opposition at the homecoming game. “Fifty-one to zero,” the scoreboard at Canaya’s Field had read. The score reflected the infinite mercy of Brother William, who played the freshmen during the fourth quarter to avoid further rolling up the score.
“Never kick an opponent when he’s down!” Brother William would lecture the boys in his booming voice. He was half-German, half-Irish, and 100 percent devoted to winning football games. Tall and athletic despite his age, he snapped his commands like a seasoned field general, carrying a long reed, his whipping stick. No one had ever seen him use it in public, but legends and rumors of both his disciplinary fervor and his unusual provenance had circulated the dimly lit halls of the Catholic school on Elizabeth Street for decades.
No one knew exactly how long his tenure at the Academy had endured, but its longevity was unprecedented within a brotherly order that typically transferred its members every few years. Some theorized the true reason Brother William had eluded this virtuous vagabond’s life was that he wasn’t really a member of the Order anymore. These heretics posited that Brother William had been kicked out of the Brotherhood eons ago, shortly after his arrival in La Frontera, over a confrontation with the school’s headmaster at the time. This legend had it that in the days of the Mexican Revolution, Brother William arrived fresh-faced and still wet behind the ears. Like most of the other brothers in those days, he had sailed on a boat from Ireland. But to the chagrin of the headmaster, and unlike any of the other religiously punctual members of the Order, Brother William arrived four months behind schedule. Looking disheveled in linen pants and a sky blue guayabera, Brother William burst into the headmaster’s office without knocking.
According to most accounts compiled from the recollections of the school secretary, who listened through the keyhole while crouching at the door, the conversation that followed set the tone for what would become La Frontera’s most triumphant sports legacy.
“You are four months and two hours late, Brother,” the headmaster spoke, straining to conceal the anger his reddened face betrayed. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I apologize if I have inconvenienced you in any way, Brother,” the tardy one responded, “but I assure you I was delayed in the service of God.”
“I understand you made unscheduled detours and stops in the ports of Yucatan and Veracruz before resuming your course to La Frontera. Those ports are hundreds of miles south of here. Why have you done this?”
“The answer to that question is simple,” Brother William replied. “To learn.”
“Expand.”
Brother William leaned forward in the uncomfortably rigid chair. “Have you ever been to Mexico? Beyond Nueva Frontera?”
“No. Nor do I care to. It’s a filthy backwater.” The headmaster turned up his ruddy nose.
“Ah, but from that backwater come the ancestors of over ninety percent of our students. More than half of our boys speak the language of Cortez in their humble homes here in our own little backwater. And the soccer teams of the Mexican villages from whence their forefathers hailed are among the best in the world.”
“So, you’re telling me you went to Mexico to learn Spanish and watch dirty kids play soccer in the mud?” The headmaster’s voice rose in tandem with his generous body. “I have half a mind to excommunicate you right here, right now!”
“How can we teach, when we ourselves do not know?” sought Brother William. “How can I communicate with someone whose language I do not speak, whose customs I ignore?”
“You’ve ignored a great many things, Brother William,” the headmaster spoke in a tired and pompous tone, extracting a sheet of parchment from his desk. “Most importantly, you’ve ignored your obligation to me.”
“I’ll make you a deal, headmaster,” proposed Brother William, his voice soaring with emotion. “Excommunicate me as much as you want but let me do the work of God here at San Juan del Atole. I bring victory in my veins. I will teach these sorry children from this miserable border town how to win! I will show them how they can find within themselves the strength to overcome obstacles that would daunt a giant. I will show them how, together, they can bring glory to the Lord through their communal actions, rising beyond the meager hand that fate has dealt them!” The room hung in suspense, the velvet curtains held their dusty breath. The school secretary crouched at the keyhole, biting her lips nervously.
“Clearly, Brother William, you are inspired,” the headmaster conceded. “But inspiration does not suffice within the halls of this institution. Discipline is the key to achieving success. It is a necessary and vital element within any decent Christian life.”
“I couldn’t agree more!” Brother William leaned over the desk, his nose nearly touching the headmaster’s. “It shall take both discipline and inspiration to rally the spirits of these lackluster boys.”
“Still,” the headmaster continued, twirling a quill in his hand and waving it in circles over the parchment on his desk. “You broke the rules.”
“Indeed,” admitted Brother William, returning to his awkward chair, perplexed by the dilemma. “I tell you what, Brother. You excommunicate me, but you allow me to remain here at San Jan del Atole Academy as long as at least one of the school’s teams wins a championship each year. I don’t care about the formalities anymore. I just want to do the work of God and I know that this is where I’m meant to do it.”