The Cowboys, Part Last

Once we’re clean and dressed, instead of continuing directly to Zacatecas, the distressed damsel and I follow a scenic detour and end up at a place whose sign reads “THE HOUSE OF THE LORD.” By its state of dilapidation, one might call it a fallen temple; at first it seems abandoned; however, when we walk around back, we meet a priest with a long beard who welcomes us in a deep, rich voice. We kneel before him and explain how we came to be here: I tell of our horses’ theft and of my sister Pearl’s death. The priest listens with a grave expression; then, after making the sign of the cross, he relays the story of how the world was created with a deep flaw and has slowly been mending itself over the eons; and he tells how the struggle between form and content sustains the dream of the Virgin Mother. When he finishes speaking, I say: “Does this mean that my sister Pearl is up in Heaven?” The priest’s countenance darkens as he answers: “I’m sorry, she is not.” However, to make up for having to bear us such sad news, the priest offers to perform the rites at our marriage ceremony. Thereafter, the damsel and I return to her hometown and live out the rest of our days in the bliss of wedlock.