chances.
Esteban even as a child in Courteguay was serious and studious, wanting to discuss with the Wizard questions of philosophical magnitude. Rather than discussing how to pick a runner off first base he was interested in questions of religious significance. Esteban often went to view the priests. Years earlier, the Old Dictator had, at great expense, imprisoned the priests by installing fourteen-foot chain-link fencing around every manse in Courteguay. When General Bravura overthrew the government and took power, he did nothing to remove the fences. Esteban would stand outside the frosty-bright metal fence, watching the old priests walk, hands behind backs, black cassocks sweeping the ground, their strides ungainly, lumbering like tall, mangy bears. The priests occasionally blessed a goat or a peasant who came too close to the fence. Esteban noted that the priest’s eyes were rheumy and their teeth bad.
“Why doesn’t God melt down the fence?” Esteban asked the Wizard.
“Why should he?” asked the Wizard.
“Because the priest is God’s representative. He does God’s work.”
“What can the priests do on the outside that they cannot do inside the fence, except graveside services? If they wished to they could lead prayers, perform marriages, administer the Eucharist, hear confessions;the sick could be brought to visit them. Because these priests choose to decay before your eyes, to choose as their only duties the blessing of goats and lottery tickets, is not the fault of God. If I were God I would turn the fence to stone so the priests might disintegrate in private.”
“I have decided to be a priest,” said Esteban. “And I will do the same work no matter which side of the fence I am on.”
“You will go far,” said the Wizard. “I will see that you are allowed to bless each new balloon that I add to my fleet.” The Wizard, at the time, did not own even one balloon.
Word of the miraculous Baseball Playing Babies spread outward from Courteguay. In nearby Haiti, Papa Doc Duvalier, when he heard of the astonishing children, sent an emissary with golf-ball-sized diamonds on his ebony fingers, who offered to buy the babies from their father in return for a twenty-pound bar of gold and six virgins.
“In Haiti, women who have had sex only with Papa Doc Duvalier or a member of his cabinet are still considered virgins. The gold bar has a leaden center and the virgins have the pox,” said the Wizard, who had bigger plans for the battery. Hector Alvarez Pimental reluctantly turned down the offer. In America, he knew, baseball players were rich and worshipped. They were idolized more than generals, bullfighters, plantation owners, rock stars, or even Papa Doc Duvalier. Besides, what would Duvalier do with them, turn them into soccer players?
“They play soccer in Haiti,” said the Wizard, “soccer is for rowdies who are not yet smart enough to tie their own shoes. When I become President of the Republic of Courteguay I will have a baseball installed on our flag.” The Courteguayan flag was a solid green rectangle with a white cube at its center. The small square had no significance whatever, and the rumor was that the material for the first flag had had a flaw in its center that the flag-maker interpreted as a design.
FOURTEEN
THE GRINGO JOURNALIST
B y the time the boys were seven years old they were playing in the best league in Courteguay, and were virtually unbeatable. General Bravura, who was now El Presidente, disagreed with the Wizard about possibly negotiating to send the boys to America. The Wizard went ahead and laboriously wrote a letter that he addressed to: El Presidente, American State of Miami, United States of America, The World. Or so the Wizard claims.
Since he mistrusted the Courteguayan Postal Service, a very small operation because sixty percent of Courteguayans were illiterate, the Wizard sent the letter to America by Dominican rumrunner, which would drop it off somewhere in
Esteban even as a child in Courteguay was serious and studious, wanting to discuss with the Wizard questions of philosophical magnitude. Rather than discussing how to pick a runner off first base he was interested in questions of religious significance. Esteban often went to view the priests. Years earlier, the Old Dictator had, at great expense, imprisoned the priests by installing fourteen-foot chain-link fencing around every manse in Courteguay. When General Bravura overthrew the government and took power, he did nothing to remove the fences. Esteban would stand outside the frosty-bright metal fence, watching the old priests walk, hands behind backs, black cassocks sweeping the ground, their strides ungainly, lumbering like tall, mangy bears. The priests occasionally blessed a goat or a peasant who came too close to the fence. Esteban noted that the priest’s eyes were rheumy and their teeth bad.
“Why doesn’t God melt down the fence?” Esteban asked the Wizard.
“Why should he?” asked the Wizard.
“Because the priest is God’s representative. He does God’s work.”
“What can the priests do on the outside that they cannot do inside the fence, except graveside services? If they wished to they could lead prayers, perform marriages, administer the Eucharist, hear confessions;the sick could be brought to visit them. Because these priests choose to decay before your eyes, to choose as their only duties the blessing of goats and lottery tickets, is not the fault of God. If I were God I would turn the fence to stone so the priests might disintegrate in private.”
“I have decided to be a priest,” said Esteban. “And I will do the same work no matter which side of the fence I am on.”
“You will go far,” said the Wizard. “I will see that you are allowed to bless each new balloon that I add to my fleet.” The Wizard, at the time, did not own even one balloon.
Word of the miraculous Baseball Playing Babies spread outward from Courteguay. In nearby Haiti, Papa Doc Duvalier, when he heard of the astonishing children, sent an emissary with golf-ball-sized diamonds on his ebony fingers, who offered to buy the babies from their father in return for a twenty-pound bar of gold and six virgins.
“In Haiti, women who have had sex only with Papa Doc Duvalier or a member of his cabinet are still considered virgins. The gold bar has a leaden center and the virgins have the pox,” said the Wizard, who had bigger plans for the battery. Hector Alvarez Pimental reluctantly turned down the offer. In America, he knew, baseball players were rich and worshipped. They were idolized more than generals, bullfighters, plantation owners, rock stars, or even Papa Doc Duvalier. Besides, what would Duvalier do with them, turn them into soccer players?
“They play soccer in Haiti,” said the Wizard, “soccer is for rowdies who are not yet smart enough to tie their own shoes. When I become President of the Republic of Courteguay I will have a baseball installed on our flag.” The Courteguayan flag was a solid green rectangle with a white cube at its center. The small square had no significance whatever, and the rumor was that the material for the first flag had had a flaw in its center that the flag-maker interpreted as a design.
FOURTEEN
THE GRINGO JOURNALIST
B y the time the boys were seven years old they were playing in the best league in Courteguay, and were virtually unbeatable. General Bravura, who was now El Presidente, disagreed with the Wizard about possibly negotiating to send the boys to America. The Wizard went ahead and laboriously wrote a letter that he addressed to: El Presidente, American State of Miami, United States of America, The World. Or so the Wizard claims.
Since he mistrusted the Courteguayan Postal Service, a very small operation because sixty percent of Courteguayans were illiterate, the Wizard sent the letter to America by Dominican rumrunner, which would drop it off somewhere in
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