University of Northern Iowa

In Search of an Ordinary GodAuthor(s): Andrea O'BrienSource: The North American Review, Vol. 292, No. 5 (Sep. - Oct., 2007), p. 18Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25478937 .

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NAR

leaned over the wall and sat on the floor. Then, I saw the dog. He was staring at me with his sad eyes from the corner. "Damn dog. To hell with him."

I pulled a shirt from my bag and threw it on top of me. It was

cold, and I could not go anywhere. I had to wait for the morning. Tomorrow, I would head in any direction. I could not spend another night here. The wind was chilling.

"I have to find the perpetrator. He must be the only one who remembers me. While he does, I have hope of staying in this world even if it is for a little while. I have to find him."

"Are you okay?" "I think so."

I did not know how long it had been since I sat leaning on the wall. I must have dozed a little bit. In that moment, I heard another noise. "It must be the dog again. Damn dog. Get out of here!" I closed my eyes trying to make a hole on the dark shawl of the night. Nothing. The rattling was coming closer and closer. Someone was coming. Who could it be? A thief? My cousins? I

lay on the ground, hoping to be unnoticed until I found out what was going on. My body shivered. I was not sure if it was from the cold or from the fear. It did not matter because I lay there

motionless.

Without warning, my bones began to rattle. They were like a

rattlesnake that is ready to attack. The only problem was that I wasn't ready to attack. I just wanted to be invisible. I felt how

slowly a freezing cold was taking possession of my body, of my bones. It hurt. Still, I didn't move.

In the same way that my bones began to rattle, they stopped, or so I wanted to believe. I was holding my breath because I did not want it to betray me. The steps were approaching. The steps were coming. Then, I heard a whistle. Whoever this person was,

I

he was whistling. I felt calmer. Thieves did not whistle when they were going to rob, did they? Nevertheless, I did not move. No

vaya a ser que...

When he saw me, he did not recognize me. Of course, how might he? It's been a long time. A long, long time. The red flare of his

eyes had hidden like when the redness of a charcoal is covered by ashes, and it is hardly distinguishable. The fire in his eyes was

dying. The second time I appeared to him, his memory came back. "You! No, not you. It can't be." And, then he ran. The next

day, I could not find him. He must be trying to hide from me. He left everything behind. Damn it! I had to start all over again. I had to find him. Time did not matter very much, yet. The Second Death was at bay so far. Someone must be still remembering every now and then, but how long will this last? The perpetrator wasn't dead, and I needed him to keep the Second Death away from me.

At that time, he must have gotten close to the bus station because I heard him yelling, "Primo, are you here? Where the hell are you, Primo?"

"Who, who is it?" "What do you mean, 'who is it?' Demostenes, caramba!"

"I don't know you." "I know that, but I'm your primo, damn it! None of the others

could come to wait for you because we received your letter just today in the morning. Luckily, the mail carrier is our friend. If not..."

"If not what?"

"If not you would have had to wait here for another day or

two, Primo. Let's go. Unless you want to stay here all night and let me tell you, it'll get pretty cold."

"No, I don't want to stay here any longer."

-1

ANDREA O'BRIEN

In Search of an Ordinary God

Above all I want to taste

Christ baked in the wafer. I want to approach the altar without genuflection or holy water. I want to burrow

| in the empty space of scripture. If I could still my desperate

and swaying body, if I could shut my eyes to the world I love, if I could mute my breath

long enough, would I hear God

crunching celery sticks? Would I notice her braiding beads into my hair for her daily rosary?

Would I find her in lemons and cancer cells and crack

babies, among dead birds, j delphiniums, and human waste?

Would I recognize her sliding between the constellations to sprinkle the baneberry with lustral dust?

18 NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW September-October 2007

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