“Just a memento, por favor.” Part 2: “One flew over the cuckoo’s nest; the one who landed was me.”

“Wow, what an amazing cathedral. Let’s go inside.”

We had just finished our interaction with the ironworkers, when we turned the corner and to our right was a marvelous cathedral…with two doors. It was apparent that the door to left was the entrance to the worship chapel. The door to the right was not as obvious, and the sign above the door was more than either of us could translate. Which one?

I pictured the door on the right possibly being the entrance to an adjoining convent or cloister area, which, if true, would likely have a side door into the main chapel. The contrarian side of me reigned, so I suggested we explore that entrance. Upon entering, my initial imagination was confirmed; the area to our left opened to a black-iron framed courtyard flooded with flowers, greenery and the melodies of a stone fountain. But before I could dwell on what I figured was, in fact, a convent or parish residences, Lynn called me over to her discovery on the wall of the far left side hallway. It was an exhibit of ten handcrafted clay sculptures, each representing one of the Ten Commandments. They were apparently historical relics encased in clear Lucite boxes mounted to the wall. As we “oohed and aahed and wowed” the entire length of the display, I remained faintly aware of the fountain’s sound and floral perfume that inundated the air around us.

After viewing all ten boxes, I turned around and walked over to the iron fence, ready to drink in the sensory delights of the courtyard.

When I scanned the area, I realized that what I thought to be a serene cloister…was in fact a courtyard lined along its far end with wheelchairs. And seated in the wheelchairs were men and women; languid, seemingly poured into their varied and awkward positions like the clay figures enclosed and unmoving in the display. Out of the left corner of my eyes I noticed someone walking in and out and around the columns. His frame appeared bent, like something shaped from strands of intertwined pipe cleaners. He was holding his right hand up close to his head and moving it side to side in a mindless waving gesture, his arm bent upwards in an L-shape. Our eyes met. I nodded and smiled, even though he was about 20 yards from where I was standing behind the fence and I wasn’t sure he could see my expression. And as if the glance telegraphed between us he started moving directly to the fence. The closer he came, the closer I understood the depth of the living painting I beheld. He was clearly what would be termed as mentally challenged. His face was frozen in a distorted grin, his tongue protruding out from between the bite of his mislaid teeth. His hands were gnarled and arthritic. His eyes were like those of what I imagine would look like if I stared into the eyes of an angel. Sparkling. Gleaming. Intoxicated, I fell into the spell of their iridescent acceptance.

Sound fled. Time surrendered. Meaning became simply two men separated by a black iron barricade; one kept out, one kept in. He extended his misshapen hand towards the opening in the fence. Without hesitation I reached forward and took his hand, cradling it gently between my hands. His skin… oh, the glory of his skin… soft and velvety like a newborn child’s face. I squeezed gently; our eyes lingered as the shadowed ink in our eyes mingled, acknowledging that we were the same. Broken, yearning and estranged from tenderness by the fences we erect between each other. But, not today. Not now. This was our time.

Our hands slipped apart and I turned slowly to leave, turning one last time to see my brother melting back into the acrylic and canvas. When I walked back into the sunlight I felt its warmth rise through me, a timid whisper: “Brian, this last moment is your memento to home with you to remember this place. And to remember that the ‘other door’ will take you into the truest places of worship; the sanctuary of my heart.”

We left Guatemala the next morning. I couldn’t stop picturing the black iron fence and wondering which one of us was kept in, and which one was kept out.

For emphasis – (b)