The City of Palaces by Michael Nava Read Free Book Online

up where his drops of blood touched the earth. That’s why the artist carved flowers on the cross. For him they are the blood and resurrection of Jesus.”
    â€œThe Yaquis?” Sarmiento said. “The same tribe the government is fighting up in the north?”
    â€œI was not aware we were at war with them,” she said. “What caused the conflict?”
    â€œSettlers have moved into land the Yaquis claim as their own.”
    â€œI’m sure it is my ignorance,” she said, as they reached the immense doors of the palace, “but could the land not be apportioned in a way that would satisfy both groups?”
    â€œA good question, Doña,” he replied. “Not one I imagine the combatants bothered to ask themselves before they took up arms. Men never do.”
    From a small room attached to the palace at the side of the door, a porter emerged, and, with a suspicious glance at Sarmiento, asked, “Doña Alicia, is everything all right?”
    With a smile in her voice, she said, “Yes, Pablito. I will enter in a moment.” To Sarmiento she asked, “What do you mean when you say men never do?”
    â€œOnly that men are thoughtless creatures,” he replied. “Their first impulse is always to take action, however rash or misguided. Or fatal.”
    After a long, considering silence, she said, “Do you speak from experience, Señor Doctor?”
    The kindness in her lovely, low voice was as palpable as a warm hand laid on his. The sadness and nostalgia he had felt since entering the church clutched at his heart and squeezed tears from him. He hastily wiped his sleeve across his face and said, “Well, one has made many mistakes in life, of course.”
    He was afraid she would comment on his tears, but she said, “Yes, that is true of all of us. But one need not become imprisoned by one’s errors.”
    â€œHow does one avoid that?” he asked.
    â€œFor a believer, there is confession,” she said.
    â€œA few Hail Marys and it all goes away?” he replied.
    She retreated into silence and he thought he had offended her, but then she said, “The value of confession for me is not in the penance but in saying aloud the things I would keep secret in my guilt and then having my confessor put them in their proper place for me. To give them—what is the word artists use? Perspective. For in my guilt, my sins loom large and I can see little else. Another person, disinterested but sympathetic, can look and see things as they are, not as I imagine them to be.”
    Again, he felt her kindness like a physical balm and it was all he could do not to spill his secret then and there about Paquita and his son.
    â€œBut, as I said, Doña Alicia, I am a nonbeliever. Who would hear my confession?”
    â€œI would,” she said simply. “Won’t you come in and have a cup of something warm, a bit of something to eat?”
    Longing and fear fought in his heart: a longing to confess his faults to her and a fear that, once she heard them, she would turn away from him in revulsion. Fear won out.
    â€œThank you, Doña, but I must take my leave. I have my rounds, patients to see.” Yet he found himself reluctant to go. “Perhaps,” he added, “I could call on you another time?”
    â€œOf course,” she replied graciously. “You need only send me a message and I would be happy to receive you.” She touched his hand. “Good-bye, Doctor Sarmiento. God go with you.”
    â€œDoña,” he said with a little bow and rushed away before she could see that the tears had reappeared in the corners of his eyes.
    A s the rest of the household slumbered, Alicia made her way into the garden, an overgrown wilderness of orange and lemon trees, heavy swags of climbing roses that spilled over the garden walls, clumps of calla and trumpet lilies, heliotrope, rose geraniums, and jasmine. A rosace-shaped