La Señora, the Archangel

Saint Michael, the Archangel

Wedged firmly between the two policemen who were still twirling their night sticks calmly awaiting a patrol car to cart me off to jail we were passed by students returning to school for the evening session of classes.

Feeling helpless I suddenly realized that my pleas of innocence were getting me nowhere as, again, it seemed as though I was unjustly being tried and condemned for something I had no thought of even doing. Copious tears streamed down my face bathing my troubled countenance as I saw a group of kids I knew, and others I did not know, stop and tarry a little while in sympathy with me only to depart leaving me sobbing in the clutches of the two cops.

My only thought then was that my family would have reason to believe that they were correct in having my father mistreat me once the news of this encounter with the law got back to them. Forlorn, I looked for help from my Westindian people still observing the scene from their balconies hoping that at least some of them who had seen me growing up would come forward and vouch for my honesty.

My mother’s cousin, Vi, remained stoically fixed on her perennial perch as I continued to look to her for some support. She, however, remained motionless and seemingly impassive to my plaintiff cries. The three of us now had remained at that corner for what seemed to me an eternity and the desperation began gnawing at my stomach where once the hunger pangs had been.

Suddenly, through my tears, I saw her coming across the street. Calmly and yet quite determined she made her way directly to the two young policemen and their captive. Since the cops gave all indication that they did not know her and, for that matter, nobody else in the neighborhood, they didn’t budge in acknowledgement. In fact, it was the first time that even I had seen her in the street as she appeared in that moment. However, she was one of my neighbors who had known me since the age of seven when I came to reside next door to her family.

It was a strange scene and even I didn’t know what La Señora was up to as she crossed the street deliberately headed our way. She was a tall and all around large woman who hardly spoke to anyone in the neighborhood. Even to her own children, I had often observed, she spoke in a very soft, sweet voice, barely audible. As she approached the two officers I noticed that her red hair was neatly combed and contrasted with her pale skin. She was saying something I could not hear as she came even closer.

Suddenly, and quite remarkably to me, the two cops snapped to attention before her and saluted as if they had seen a high ranking military man. For me, however, it was the appearance of my Archangel Doña Dora, who had authority in heaven.

The policemen remained stiffly at attention after saluting and all they could say was, “Sí Señora…A la orden Señora!” to whatever it was she was saying to them. They were transfixed on this woman as if she had some kind of hold on them. La Señora then beckoned to me while she said to the cops, “I will take charge of him; he is a good child. Follow me Junior!”

I moved quickly at the lady’s beckoning and remained at her side until she finished talking to the policemen who remained motionless and deferent while they listened to her every word. I heard my soft spoken guardian angel reiterate to the cops, “He is a very good boy. I know that you are mistaken.” In final unison they said, “Sí Señora!” Doña Dora then turned around reaching out to me and touched my face gently as if to say, “Don’t cry anymore.”

It had been quite a day for me and one that proved to me that my Blessed Mother, the Virgin Mary, had materialized in the form of a caring neighbor who had come to my rescue. I had always admired this soft spoken woman and mother of my playmates, Xenelia and Donaldo, but I had hardly ever heard her speak above a whisper. I knew my neighbors next door as people who had escaped Nicaragua’s dictatorship. They had come to live in Magnolia building just a little before I had arrived to live with my grandmother.

This, however, would not be the last time that I would have to regret that one of my actions would touch that family.

This story will continue.