Of Carnality and Spirit

Megan and I had dinner with Fred and his new wife Bev last night at Rosa’s. We sat at a table covered with brightly patterned tiles that caught and reflected the raucous light. Mariachis trumpeted a sad ballad. Mexican calendars for sale on a far wall displayed Aztec warriors on summits of volcanoes standing over virgins while others portrayed saints rising in rapture: some hot with plumes of passion and mango sunset -- others cool, blue, spare, full of ethereal mystery. Sex or purity? Which would I hang on my wall? We talked about how naked the desert feels, how bare, empty -- how cacti have to be spiny and toxic to survive. Then the food came. We ate cheese melted on tortillas, scooped up mounds of Spanish rice, refried beans, greasy chips. Salsa burned. Bev washed it down with a diet soda, Fred a root beer. I swirled the Negra Modelo in the bottom of the bottle, dark as molasses. Fred’s eyes welled when he invoked Donna, his first wife, who died two years ago. Bev held his arm. He said he wanted to see Donna again, and felt that he would. Megan talked about the afterlife as I scraped at melted cheese that felt like it had been welded to the plate and tried to imagine death. I knew Megan would choose the saint to hang above her altar. I put my arm around her and felt my hand pass through her as it would through mist. She talked about the body and the soul and the impermanence of things. I looked at the streaks of gold in her hair, the curve of her neck. I hoped that later we would make love. Fred said time had no beginning and no end, that it was a giant circle. He knew that Donna was somewhere in that circle and that he soon would be there too. He leaned forward on his elbows to make the point. Bev tightened her grip. After flan and coffee we sat back, quiet, satisfied. It was enough. It was all we had. Then Rosa switched off the lights behind the cash register. Tables emptied. Waitresses tallied accounts. Fred thanked us for dinner as I put on the black jacket. The first chill of autumn stood patiently outside, waiting to punch the clock of night.