With no triumph, but only a mother's distressed remonstrance, Mrs. Sanchez softly wailed, "O Roberto, Roberto, I warned you. I told you."
"Yes, Mama, you told me," he said. "But you did not tell me the thing most important. You did not tell me that we are devils!"
She stared at him, uncomprehending.
"Yes, my fine, good Mama! With all your thoughts of heaven, we are a world of devils. How or why or from whence I do not yet know. But I am going back to the White Space to seek and I only come now to see you once more and say good-by ... and...." Roberto faltered and leaned toward her as if straining to see her face in the evening gloom that had almost deepened into night. "... and ... ask your blessing." The words were hardly more than a whisper.
"Going back?" she said incredulously.
"I must."
Anger was in her voice as she pointed to his leg. "Even with the mark of wrath you carry? You dare make more sacrilege?"
She turned to go into the house. Roberto limped a few steps after her. "Mama, as you love me, your blessing! For your son."
She turned in the doorway, her face hard. "I can only pray for you."
Roberto watched her go inside. No light appeared and he knew she would be kneeling before the shelf of holy things in the small flickering light of the votive candle. He made his way to the front of the house to the waiting heli-taxi. He looked back at the house. This is no longer my home, he thought. And then, a moment later: Was it ever?