The Legend of the Santo, El Nino
Swift, thirsty air gently lifted a fine layer of dust off parched terrain all across Socorro County, New Mexico. Atop Capilla Peak in neighboring Torrance County, Gerald Struthers leaned against a cinder block bunker and frowned at the unbroken blue crystal dome that was the spring sky. Looking west, he squinted gray eyes, searching for even the vaguest hint of a cloud. Turning south, he watched for the tiniest flash that might indicate lightning. Cursing mildly, Gerald kicked at the ground, causing a tiny dust devil to swirl off toward a white-domed optical observatory .
Gerald's girlfriend, an astrophysics graduate student, had introduced him to the site two years before. "The summer storms are fabulous," said Dianne McCallion at the time. She showed him the bunker he now leaned against. At one time it served as a cosmic ray observatory. Abandoned now, it made a perfect storm shelter where one could safely measure the potency of lightning strikes. Well ... it would be perfect were there a storm in the area.
With a sigh, Gerald shuffled off to a dilapidated 1957 Ford pickup dappled three different shades of green. In the bed were a number of gray metal boxes and a long rod that hung out the back. Instead of a rifle in the rear window, a rainbow of wire was coiled around the gun rack. The door creaked its loud protest as Gerald yanked it open. A spring squeaked rustily as the lanky young man plunked onto the seat. Finding an old screwdriver on the floorboard, he thrust it into the ignition, causing the ancient truck to belch a thick cloud of coal-gray smoke with a sound like thunder. Before driving off, Gerald scanned the horizon to make sure no real thunder had sounded its report.
Sighing, he grabbed the gear shift and, with a sickening grinding of metal, punched the truck into low gear and trundled down the nine miles of dirt road to the highway that would ultimately carry him to the town of Socorro. As he approached the town of Manzano at the bottom of Capilla Peak, Gerald jumped when he heard a fierce report, like a gun shot. Instinctively, he ducked as low as he could. He Looking around, he saw no sign of poachers in the woods. Just then, he bumped his head on the steering wheel as the truck began to lurch with a rattle-thump. Growling, he stopped the truck and stepped out to inspect the flat tire he knew he would find.
With long, thin hands on his hips, Gerald tapped his foot and stared at the useless right front tire which had been slashed on a rock. Shaking his head, he shuffled to the back of the truck and unbolted a dusty spare tire. With a life of its own, the tire practically leapt off the makeshift mounting, stubbed his toe and rolled off to the trench at the side of the dirt road.
Gerald took a deep breath, trying to regain control of the situation. As he walked toward the tire, he noticed an old adobe house, painted blue. The window nearest him was broken out. The house was surrounded by a rotting fence missing more than a third of its posts. Gerald wondered how many years it had been abandoned.
Standing the tire upright, Gerald rolled it to the truck, leaning it against the bed. Walking back to the open driver's side door, Gerald rolled up the sleeves of his red flannel shirt and began rummaging behind the seat, looking for pieces of the jack. Ultimately, he found everything except for the long jack handle. Throwing out pieces of rope, candy bar wrappers, and old Styrofoam cups, he desperately tried to find the handle. Finally, he had to concede that it was not there.
Grinding his teeth, Gerald turned and slumped to the ground, putting his face in his hands. After a minute, he looked up at the old house and gasped in spite of himself as he saw a white-haired, stoop-shouldered man looking over the decrepit fence.
"Hola," said the wizened man.
Gerald put up a hand and waved - smiling sheepishly.
"You look like you are in trouble," said the old man, pushing open a tired gate. "Are you a professor at the tech?"
Standing, Gerald dusted himself off. "I'm a graduate student at New Mexico Tech, yes," he said smiling.
"I would think anyone smart enough to go to the tech would know enough to have all the pieces of his jack." The old man's voice was only gently chiding.
Gerald nodded. "You would think so." Then looking back at the truck he said, "You would also think a school with as much money as Tech would be able to afford better trucks."
The old man's laughter was like autumn leaves rustling. "I think I can help out."
Gerald watched as the man slowly turned and ambled back toward the sky-blue house.
While waiting, Gerald looked around at the green grass and pine trees. Behind him, Capilla Peak rose to meet the infuriatingly clear sky. Across the road from the house, Gerald noticed a strange sight. Standing all by itself in an otherwise empty field of grass was a small apple tree.
The old man finally returned with a long piece of pipe that could be inserted into the jack in place of the handle. Thanking the old man, Gerald set to work assembling the jack. With the old man's help, the new tire was on the truck within half an hour. "I may even make it back in time for dinner," beamed Gerald, sunshine in his voice.
"What is all this shit?" mumbled the old man, looking at the equipment piled in the back of the truck.
"I'm studying to be an atmospheric physicist," said Gerald, shrugging. Seeing the blank expression on the old man's face, Gerald explained further. "I use it to study lightning."
"No lightning today," said the old man wistfully, moving around the truck. "No rain neither." He looked longingly at the apple tree. "Without the rain, el milagro de manzano is in danger."
Living in the southwest for nearly six years had given Gerald a rudimentary knowledge of Spanish. "The miracle of the ... apple?"
"Si," said the old man, nodding. "That tree over there is the only apple tree for miles around. How did it get here?"
Gerald shrugged. "I suppose someone planted it."
"Except," said the old man. "They say Coronado himself saw that tree when he marched up El Camino Real. The apples on that tree were a miracle that saved his expedition. They have saved me from starvation at times. They come when we pray to el Santo Nino, the Holy Child."
Gerald leaned on his pickup. "Why the Holy Child?"
The old man's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were a smart guy."
"If! were that smart, I'd know how to bring the rain and the lightning," retorted the student.
The old man snorted. "The tree is alone. It is innocent, a virgin, like a child." The old man turned toward the house. "Come with me, and I'll show you how to make the rain come."
The old man wobbled, unstably toward the house. Shrugging, Gerald wiped his hands on faded blue jeans and followed the old man across the field to the ancient adobe structure. Stepping across the worn, wooden threshold, the physics student blinked in the semi-darkness.
The old man stepped over to a graying table where several candles were burning. Tiny wooden figures stood vigilant guard over the lightly scented candles. The old man made the sign of the cross, then reached out with bent fingers and retrieved one of the miniature figures. "This santo is el Nino," he said reverently as he turned. "Pray to him, talk gently as he is only a child."
He held the santo in cupped hands, passing him to Gerald. "The rains will come," he said, sure of himself.
Yeah, right, Gerald thought to himself. Still, he took the frail carved figure from the old man, holding it gently. "Gracias," said Gerald. "I can't thank you enough for all your help."
"You can thank me," wheezed the old man. "By praying to el Santo Nino and bringing the rains."
That night, Gerald arrived at his small house in Socorro. The building was only slightly less run down than the old man's adobe at the edge of forest service land. At least Gerald's house had all its windows intact. Taking one last look at the annoyingly clear sky, Gerald brought the little santo inside and sat the statuette atop the mantle; another trophy of his experiences in New Mexico.
Gerald's girlfriend Dianne, a statuesque woman with long black hair, stepped into the living room when she heard him come in. "How'd the day go?"
"The weather forecast called for thunderstorms," grumbled Gerald. "I packed up the damned truck, went all the way up the mountain, for what? The clearest skies I have seen all spring!"
Dianne smiled wistfully. "I wish Dr. Ames would let me apply for more time up at Capilla. Sounds like the weather is perfect."
Gerald frowned darkly. "Perfect is a matter of definition."
Dianne rubbed her hand up and down Gerald's tense arm. This was a long-standing argument. They were united by a love of physics, but divided by her need for clear skies and his need for clouds. Her gaze slowly drifted from Gerald's relaxing face to the fact that something about the crowded mantle had changed. Finally, her eyes settled on the statuette. "Where did you get the santo?"
"An old guy who helped me fix a flat tire. He said it would bring rain." Gerald shook his head.
"It's adorable," she smiled. "Just like you."
Gerald rolled his eyes. "Adorable or not, I just hope we get a thunderstorm soon or I'm not going to finish my thesis on time."
"You're just being impatient," she chided. "Just wait until July. The rains will come then.
They always do." She plucked the santo from the mantle and looked into its eyes. "Say, do you suppose that santos who bring rain can help with telescope proposals?"
While Gerald watched the skies for signs of thunderstorms, Dianne watched the mailbox.
She waited impatiently for word that a proposal she and her advisor, Dr. Kristen Ames, had sent to Kitt Peak National Observatory was accepted. Three nights on Kitt Peak's venerable 4-meter telescope would allow Dianne to finish her thesis just as a summer of rain would give Gerald the data to finish his.
That year, New Mexico suffered the hottest, driest July on record. Not a drop of rain fell, nor did a thunder cloud form. Winds fueled forest fires throughout the state, causing the President to declare New Mexico a disaster area. On August first, Gerald caught himself looking spitefully at the little santo sitting on his mantle piece. In his opinion, New Mexico was a disaster area, all right, but the disaster had nothing to do with fires. "God damn you!" he shouted at the santo, feeling a little silly. "Make it rain," he ordered. In the back of his mind, Gerald hoped that swearing at the santo would bring down God's wrath and a lightning bolt would strike. That would be irony, he thought. Lightning would strike the one time he did not have his equipment ready.
On August third, weatherman Morgan Eisenhood predicted severe thunderstorms in the Manzano Wilderness Area. The weatherman's prediction was grim, with lightning would likely come more fires. Instead of being grim, Gerald whistled a happy tune as he loaded his truck. Dianne looked at him, worried. "I don't want you up there if there's a fire," she said.
Gerald sighed. "This late in the season, there's going to be rain with any thunder. You know as well as I do that the fire danger is minimal." With that, he gave Dianne a quick peck on the cheek and rushed out the door, in search of lightning.
As he flew down highway 14, Gerald was excited to see two puffy clouds building along the mountain ridge. "Hot damn!" he cried. Shortly, Gerald turned off onto the dirt road that would lead him to the top of the mountain. As he came to the apple tree, he saw the old man standing by the side of the road, waving.
Gerald slammed on the squishy brakes causing the truck to slide forward, leaving a shower of dust and pebbles in its wake.
"What's your rush?" croaked the old man.
Gerald pointed to the two clouds on the ridge. "Look, we're going to have a storm!" "Those two clouds?" The old man shook his head. "They ain't going to amount to nothing." He raised his head, indicating the wilting apple tree. "You haven't been praying to el Nino, have you?"
Gerald looked down at the truck's baseboard. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
"No, I haven't." His voice was almost inaudible.
"You better do so soon," whispered the old man. "Or both our miracles will dry up forever." As the old man spoke, Gerald looked up to see the two clouds on the side of the mountain begin to evaporate.
Heaving a deep sigh, Gerald turned the rattling pickup around and went back home.
That night, Gerald Struthers knelt in front of the fireplace. Dianne lit candles, turned off the brash electric lights and knelt next to the man she loved. Gerald prayed prayers he had thought forgotten. He recited the Lord's Prayer, softly, gently. Finally, Gerald looked into the tiny painted eyes of the saint. "EI Nino, while it's true, I want the rains to come and the lightning so I can finish my thesis," he whispered. "I hope and pray it will rain so the old man's apple tree will bear fruit."
Gerald poured his heart out to the little saint, telling it about the old man and how he'd helped him change a tire. Dianne rested her hand on Gerald's shoulder, and he stopped feeling silly. While Gerald talked to the little statue Dianne silently prayed that her proposal would be accepted. Finally, after talking for an hour, Gerald apologized for yelling at the little wooden statue. With a goofy smile, Gerald stood, helped Dianne to her feet, and went to bed.
The next morning Gerald awoke to a low rumble. At first, he thought it was Dianne snoring, but she was turned away from him. He pushed the thin curtains over the bed aside to see lovely, thick, billowing clouds outside. "Hot damn!" called Gerald leaping out of bed.
"What?" murmured Dianne.
Without bothering to shower, Gerald leapt into his jeans and an old T-shirt. He rushed out to the shed, retrieved his lightning sensing gear and piled it in the pickup. Leaving a dazed Dianne standing in the doorway, Gerald tore out ofthe driveway and up the interstate to the highway 14 turn-off.
On the dirt road to the mountain, the old man stood by the side of the road again. "You prayed to the santo," he said with a yellow-toothed grin.
"I did," said Gerald, somehow not concerned that the old man knew.
"The rains will come soon." The old man nodded toward the mountains. "You had best get up there, so you can catch the lightning!"
"Thank you," said Gerald. "Thank you for everything."
"Don't thank me," whispered the old man. "Thank el Santo Nino." Again the old man looked up to the mountains. "Now, get going, or you'll miss the fireworks!"
Gerald waved as he sped off along the parched road ...
The following spring, a woman with faded blond hair - Kristen Ames - sat with Dianne McCallion in the control room of the 4-meter telescope, high atop Kitt Peak in the Sonoran Desert of Southern Arizona. The day Gerald's storm struck, Dianne received word that her proposal to Kitt Peak had been accepted. She was granted four nights during the best time of the year. Unless something went horribly wrong, her thesis would be done at the same time as Gerald's. The astronomers sat with their backs to a bank of black buttons and red indicator lights. One of those lights indicated that the protective dome was closed, shielding the telescope from the torrents of rain that could be heard striking the metal structure. The weather had gone horribly wrong.
Dianne impatiently typed on a white keyboard stained with dirty fingerprints, downloading satellite images onto her computer screen. Pictures of the swirling cloud pattern over them unfurled on the large monitor. "I'll never get my thesis done!" she said around barred teeth. "I just need spectra of five galaxies." She turned to her thesis advisor. "How could it rain at Kitt Peak in April?"
"I think I see an edge to the storm," said the older woman, trying to sound reassuring. "I think it will get here in the next couple of hours." Her words were absorbed by the sound of another sheet of rain hitting the building, followed by a crash of thunder.
Dianne slumped in the red chair. "It'll be dawn before that," she sighed.
"They say it's an EI Nino year." Dr. Ames lifted an eyebrow. "Not that it's any consolation. "
"I waited three years for four nights of telescope time. What do I get? One cloudy night followed by three nights of solid rain." Dianne folded her arms and glared at the computer monitor. "Well, only another hour and the pain will be over."
Dr. Ames nodded ascent, resigned to fate. "Perhaps we can apply for more time at Capilla. There are some new spectrographs that will go on that little telescope. We'll just have to find some money to buy one." Ames sighed - telescope proposals were bad enough - what she really hated was writing grants.
Dianne laughed and a tear emerged from the comer of her eye all at the same time. "It's been raining up there, too. At least Gerald's happy."
The next morning, the two astronomers hurried down the paved road on their way to the airport. As they came to the bottom of the mountain they saw a ramshackle shanty - the kind put up by the Native Americans in the area to sell their wares. A tall hand-painted sign proclaimed, "Santos for sale."
Dianne studied the shanty critically. "I've never seen santos sold by the roadside like that. "
Kristen Ames kept her eyes locked on the road ahead, not deigning to look at the shanty.
She mumbled something under her breath about "tourist traps."
"Should we stop and get one?" asked Dianne - an edge creeping into her voice. As they approached, she saw that an old man occupied the rude building.
"A santo?" asked Ames, incredulous. "Want to pray to it and ask for the rain to stop?" Kristen Ames shook her head, then turned the car down the road that led to Tucson.
Dianne looked back, watching as the building faded into the distance. Wistfully, she wondered to which santo she would have to pray to overcome the power of EI Nino.
THE END
First published as "Rain Dance" in the April 2005 issue of The Writers Post Journal published by LBF Books -- www.lbfbooks.com
Gerald's girlfriend, an astrophysics graduate student, had introduced him to the site two years before. "The summer storms are fabulous," said Dianne McCallion at the time. She showed him the bunker he now leaned against. At one time it served as a cosmic ray observatory. Abandoned now, it made a perfect storm shelter where one could safely measure the potency of lightning strikes. Well ... it would be perfect were there a storm in the area.
With a sigh, Gerald shuffled off to a dilapidated 1957 Ford pickup dappled three different shades of green. In the bed were a number of gray metal boxes and a long rod that hung out the back. Instead of a rifle in the rear window, a rainbow of wire was coiled around the gun rack. The door creaked its loud protest as Gerald yanked it open. A spring squeaked rustily as the lanky young man plunked onto the seat. Finding an old screwdriver on the floorboard, he thrust it into the ignition, causing the ancient truck to belch a thick cloud of coal-gray smoke with a sound like thunder. Before driving off, Gerald scanned the horizon to make sure no real thunder had sounded its report.
Sighing, he grabbed the gear shift and, with a sickening grinding of metal, punched the truck into low gear and trundled down the nine miles of dirt road to the highway that would ultimately carry him to the town of Socorro. As he approached the town of Manzano at the bottom of Capilla Peak, Gerald jumped when he heard a fierce report, like a gun shot. Instinctively, he ducked as low as he could. He Looking around, he saw no sign of poachers in the woods. Just then, he bumped his head on the steering wheel as the truck began to lurch with a rattle-thump. Growling, he stopped the truck and stepped out to inspect the flat tire he knew he would find.
With long, thin hands on his hips, Gerald tapped his foot and stared at the useless right front tire which had been slashed on a rock. Shaking his head, he shuffled to the back of the truck and unbolted a dusty spare tire. With a life of its own, the tire practically leapt off the makeshift mounting, stubbed his toe and rolled off to the trench at the side of the dirt road.
Gerald took a deep breath, trying to regain control of the situation. As he walked toward the tire, he noticed an old adobe house, painted blue. The window nearest him was broken out. The house was surrounded by a rotting fence missing more than a third of its posts. Gerald wondered how many years it had been abandoned.
Standing the tire upright, Gerald rolled it to the truck, leaning it against the bed. Walking back to the open driver's side door, Gerald rolled up the sleeves of his red flannel shirt and began rummaging behind the seat, looking for pieces of the jack. Ultimately, he found everything except for the long jack handle. Throwing out pieces of rope, candy bar wrappers, and old Styrofoam cups, he desperately tried to find the handle. Finally, he had to concede that it was not there.
Grinding his teeth, Gerald turned and slumped to the ground, putting his face in his hands. After a minute, he looked up at the old house and gasped in spite of himself as he saw a white-haired, stoop-shouldered man looking over the decrepit fence.
"Hola," said the wizened man.
Gerald put up a hand and waved - smiling sheepishly.
"You look like you are in trouble," said the old man, pushing open a tired gate. "Are you a professor at the tech?"
Standing, Gerald dusted himself off. "I'm a graduate student at New Mexico Tech, yes," he said smiling.
"I would think anyone smart enough to go to the tech would know enough to have all the pieces of his jack." The old man's voice was only gently chiding.
Gerald nodded. "You would think so." Then looking back at the truck he said, "You would also think a school with as much money as Tech would be able to afford better trucks."
The old man's laughter was like autumn leaves rustling. "I think I can help out."
Gerald watched as the man slowly turned and ambled back toward the sky-blue house.
While waiting, Gerald looked around at the green grass and pine trees. Behind him, Capilla Peak rose to meet the infuriatingly clear sky. Across the road from the house, Gerald noticed a strange sight. Standing all by itself in an otherwise empty field of grass was a small apple tree.
The old man finally returned with a long piece of pipe that could be inserted into the jack in place of the handle. Thanking the old man, Gerald set to work assembling the jack. With the old man's help, the new tire was on the truck within half an hour. "I may even make it back in time for dinner," beamed Gerald, sunshine in his voice.
"What is all this shit?" mumbled the old man, looking at the equipment piled in the back of the truck.
"I'm studying to be an atmospheric physicist," said Gerald, shrugging. Seeing the blank expression on the old man's face, Gerald explained further. "I use it to study lightning."
"No lightning today," said the old man wistfully, moving around the truck. "No rain neither." He looked longingly at the apple tree. "Without the rain, el milagro de manzano is in danger."
Living in the southwest for nearly six years had given Gerald a rudimentary knowledge of Spanish. "The miracle of the ... apple?"
"Si," said the old man, nodding. "That tree over there is the only apple tree for miles around. How did it get here?"
Gerald shrugged. "I suppose someone planted it."
"Except," said the old man. "They say Coronado himself saw that tree when he marched up El Camino Real. The apples on that tree were a miracle that saved his expedition. They have saved me from starvation at times. They come when we pray to el Santo Nino, the Holy Child."
Gerald leaned on his pickup. "Why the Holy Child?"
The old man's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were a smart guy."
"If! were that smart, I'd know how to bring the rain and the lightning," retorted the student.
The old man snorted. "The tree is alone. It is innocent, a virgin, like a child." The old man turned toward the house. "Come with me, and I'll show you how to make the rain come."
The old man wobbled, unstably toward the house. Shrugging, Gerald wiped his hands on faded blue jeans and followed the old man across the field to the ancient adobe structure. Stepping across the worn, wooden threshold, the physics student blinked in the semi-darkness.
The old man stepped over to a graying table where several candles were burning. Tiny wooden figures stood vigilant guard over the lightly scented candles. The old man made the sign of the cross, then reached out with bent fingers and retrieved one of the miniature figures. "This santo is el Nino," he said reverently as he turned. "Pray to him, talk gently as he is only a child."
He held the santo in cupped hands, passing him to Gerald. "The rains will come," he said, sure of himself.
Yeah, right, Gerald thought to himself. Still, he took the frail carved figure from the old man, holding it gently. "Gracias," said Gerald. "I can't thank you enough for all your help."
"You can thank me," wheezed the old man. "By praying to el Santo Nino and bringing the rains."
That night, Gerald arrived at his small house in Socorro. The building was only slightly less run down than the old man's adobe at the edge of forest service land. At least Gerald's house had all its windows intact. Taking one last look at the annoyingly clear sky, Gerald brought the little santo inside and sat the statuette atop the mantle; another trophy of his experiences in New Mexico.
Gerald's girlfriend Dianne, a statuesque woman with long black hair, stepped into the living room when she heard him come in. "How'd the day go?"
"The weather forecast called for thunderstorms," grumbled Gerald. "I packed up the damned truck, went all the way up the mountain, for what? The clearest skies I have seen all spring!"
Dianne smiled wistfully. "I wish Dr. Ames would let me apply for more time up at Capilla. Sounds like the weather is perfect."
Gerald frowned darkly. "Perfect is a matter of definition."
Dianne rubbed her hand up and down Gerald's tense arm. This was a long-standing argument. They were united by a love of physics, but divided by her need for clear skies and his need for clouds. Her gaze slowly drifted from Gerald's relaxing face to the fact that something about the crowded mantle had changed. Finally, her eyes settled on the statuette. "Where did you get the santo?"
"An old guy who helped me fix a flat tire. He said it would bring rain." Gerald shook his head.
"It's adorable," she smiled. "Just like you."
Gerald rolled his eyes. "Adorable or not, I just hope we get a thunderstorm soon or I'm not going to finish my thesis on time."
"You're just being impatient," she chided. "Just wait until July. The rains will come then.
They always do." She plucked the santo from the mantle and looked into its eyes. "Say, do you suppose that santos who bring rain can help with telescope proposals?"
While Gerald watched the skies for signs of thunderstorms, Dianne watched the mailbox.
She waited impatiently for word that a proposal she and her advisor, Dr. Kristen Ames, had sent to Kitt Peak National Observatory was accepted. Three nights on Kitt Peak's venerable 4-meter telescope would allow Dianne to finish her thesis just as a summer of rain would give Gerald the data to finish his.
That year, New Mexico suffered the hottest, driest July on record. Not a drop of rain fell, nor did a thunder cloud form. Winds fueled forest fires throughout the state, causing the President to declare New Mexico a disaster area. On August first, Gerald caught himself looking spitefully at the little santo sitting on his mantle piece. In his opinion, New Mexico was a disaster area, all right, but the disaster had nothing to do with fires. "God damn you!" he shouted at the santo, feeling a little silly. "Make it rain," he ordered. In the back of his mind, Gerald hoped that swearing at the santo would bring down God's wrath and a lightning bolt would strike. That would be irony, he thought. Lightning would strike the one time he did not have his equipment ready.
On August third, weatherman Morgan Eisenhood predicted severe thunderstorms in the Manzano Wilderness Area. The weatherman's prediction was grim, with lightning would likely come more fires. Instead of being grim, Gerald whistled a happy tune as he loaded his truck. Dianne looked at him, worried. "I don't want you up there if there's a fire," she said.
Gerald sighed. "This late in the season, there's going to be rain with any thunder. You know as well as I do that the fire danger is minimal." With that, he gave Dianne a quick peck on the cheek and rushed out the door, in search of lightning.
As he flew down highway 14, Gerald was excited to see two puffy clouds building along the mountain ridge. "Hot damn!" he cried. Shortly, Gerald turned off onto the dirt road that would lead him to the top of the mountain. As he came to the apple tree, he saw the old man standing by the side of the road, waving.
Gerald slammed on the squishy brakes causing the truck to slide forward, leaving a shower of dust and pebbles in its wake.
"What's your rush?" croaked the old man.
Gerald pointed to the two clouds on the ridge. "Look, we're going to have a storm!" "Those two clouds?" The old man shook his head. "They ain't going to amount to nothing." He raised his head, indicating the wilting apple tree. "You haven't been praying to el Nino, have you?"
Gerald looked down at the truck's baseboard. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
"No, I haven't." His voice was almost inaudible.
"You better do so soon," whispered the old man. "Or both our miracles will dry up forever." As the old man spoke, Gerald looked up to see the two clouds on the side of the mountain begin to evaporate.
Heaving a deep sigh, Gerald turned the rattling pickup around and went back home.
That night, Gerald Struthers knelt in front of the fireplace. Dianne lit candles, turned off the brash electric lights and knelt next to the man she loved. Gerald prayed prayers he had thought forgotten. He recited the Lord's Prayer, softly, gently. Finally, Gerald looked into the tiny painted eyes of the saint. "EI Nino, while it's true, I want the rains to come and the lightning so I can finish my thesis," he whispered. "I hope and pray it will rain so the old man's apple tree will bear fruit."
Gerald poured his heart out to the little saint, telling it about the old man and how he'd helped him change a tire. Dianne rested her hand on Gerald's shoulder, and he stopped feeling silly. While Gerald talked to the little statue Dianne silently prayed that her proposal would be accepted. Finally, after talking for an hour, Gerald apologized for yelling at the little wooden statue. With a goofy smile, Gerald stood, helped Dianne to her feet, and went to bed.
The next morning Gerald awoke to a low rumble. At first, he thought it was Dianne snoring, but she was turned away from him. He pushed the thin curtains over the bed aside to see lovely, thick, billowing clouds outside. "Hot damn!" called Gerald leaping out of bed.
"What?" murmured Dianne.
Without bothering to shower, Gerald leapt into his jeans and an old T-shirt. He rushed out to the shed, retrieved his lightning sensing gear and piled it in the pickup. Leaving a dazed Dianne standing in the doorway, Gerald tore out ofthe driveway and up the interstate to the highway 14 turn-off.
On the dirt road to the mountain, the old man stood by the side of the road again. "You prayed to the santo," he said with a yellow-toothed grin.
"I did," said Gerald, somehow not concerned that the old man knew.
"The rains will come soon." The old man nodded toward the mountains. "You had best get up there, so you can catch the lightning!"
"Thank you," said Gerald. "Thank you for everything."
"Don't thank me," whispered the old man. "Thank el Santo Nino." Again the old man looked up to the mountains. "Now, get going, or you'll miss the fireworks!"
Gerald waved as he sped off along the parched road ...
The following spring, a woman with faded blond hair - Kristen Ames - sat with Dianne McCallion in the control room of the 4-meter telescope, high atop Kitt Peak in the Sonoran Desert of Southern Arizona. The day Gerald's storm struck, Dianne received word that her proposal to Kitt Peak had been accepted. She was granted four nights during the best time of the year. Unless something went horribly wrong, her thesis would be done at the same time as Gerald's. The astronomers sat with their backs to a bank of black buttons and red indicator lights. One of those lights indicated that the protective dome was closed, shielding the telescope from the torrents of rain that could be heard striking the metal structure. The weather had gone horribly wrong.
Dianne impatiently typed on a white keyboard stained with dirty fingerprints, downloading satellite images onto her computer screen. Pictures of the swirling cloud pattern over them unfurled on the large monitor. "I'll never get my thesis done!" she said around barred teeth. "I just need spectra of five galaxies." She turned to her thesis advisor. "How could it rain at Kitt Peak in April?"
"I think I see an edge to the storm," said the older woman, trying to sound reassuring. "I think it will get here in the next couple of hours." Her words were absorbed by the sound of another sheet of rain hitting the building, followed by a crash of thunder.
Dianne slumped in the red chair. "It'll be dawn before that," she sighed.
"They say it's an EI Nino year." Dr. Ames lifted an eyebrow. "Not that it's any consolation. "
"I waited three years for four nights of telescope time. What do I get? One cloudy night followed by three nights of solid rain." Dianne folded her arms and glared at the computer monitor. "Well, only another hour and the pain will be over."
Dr. Ames nodded ascent, resigned to fate. "Perhaps we can apply for more time at Capilla. There are some new spectrographs that will go on that little telescope. We'll just have to find some money to buy one." Ames sighed - telescope proposals were bad enough - what she really hated was writing grants.
Dianne laughed and a tear emerged from the comer of her eye all at the same time. "It's been raining up there, too. At least Gerald's happy."
The next morning, the two astronomers hurried down the paved road on their way to the airport. As they came to the bottom of the mountain they saw a ramshackle shanty - the kind put up by the Native Americans in the area to sell their wares. A tall hand-painted sign proclaimed, "Santos for sale."
Dianne studied the shanty critically. "I've never seen santos sold by the roadside like that. "
Kristen Ames kept her eyes locked on the road ahead, not deigning to look at the shanty.
She mumbled something under her breath about "tourist traps."
"Should we stop and get one?" asked Dianne - an edge creeping into her voice. As they approached, she saw that an old man occupied the rude building.
"A santo?" asked Ames, incredulous. "Want to pray to it and ask for the rain to stop?" Kristen Ames shook her head, then turned the car down the road that led to Tucson.
Dianne looked back, watching as the building faded into the distance. Wistfully, she wondered to which santo she would have to pray to overcome the power of EI Nino.
THE END
First published as "Rain Dance" in the April 2005 issue of The Writers Post Journal published by LBF Books -- www.lbfbooks.com
