The Virgin of Guadalupe

GBJ Fiction The Virgin of Guadalupe by Gerard “Gerry” Carty o you believe in miracles? There was a 23rd Annual Fiction time when I did not and a time when I Writing Competition was not sure. The Editorial Board of the Georgia Bar D Journal is proud to present “The Virgin of There are people who consider miracles to be big, important, even cataclysmic events—Moses parting the Guadalupe,” by Gerard “Gerry” Carty of Red Sea as choirs of angels sing. I prefer to think of them Atlanta, as the winner of the Journal’s 23rd as small fortunate happenings. Yet, most dictionaries annual Fiction Writing Competition. will define miracles as events so unusual they are not The purposes of the competition are to ascribable to human power. So, that’s not so small, is it? My friend Kinchil Gutierrez thought that miracles enhance interest in the Journal, to encourage were supernatural, that they must be ascribed to a excellence in writing by members of the Bar heavenly power—even though, at the same time, he and to provide an innovative vehicle for the professed to be a Zapatista and a non-believer. illustration of the life and work of lawyers. I did not know then what a Zapatista was. As in years past, this year’s entries reflected I met him back in the year 2000. I was a new lawyer then, and while my practice was small, my ignorance a wide range of topics and literary styles. In was great, so I signed up almost everything that walked accordance with the competition’s rules, the in the door. One day I would be handling a divorce Editorial Board selected the winning story case, the next I’d be at the immigration office, the next through a process of reading each story at a social security disability hearing. In between, of without knowledge of the author’s identity course, there would be endless hours at the library or on the Internet—for it seemed that every new case required and then ranking each entry. The story with tons of research. the highest cumulative ranking was selected as As the years went on I grew wiser and whittled the winner. The Editorial Board congratulates this down. Six years later I found that almost all I did Carty and all of the other entrants for their was workers’ compensation and immigration. The one participation and excellent writing. field of law nicely dovetailed into the other. As most of my immigration cases dealt with bringing future June 2014 33 employers and professionals into papers for a Mexican laborer at this was Mayan, from a tiny village the country and workers’ compen- time are impossible. It would take called San Martín Isolda Blanco, sation involved mostly blue collar a miracle.” near Ocosingo, a city close to the representation, I had a practice Kinchil perked up at the word famous Mayan ruins of Palenque, that covered a wide cross-section “miracle.” in the state of Chiapas in the south of the work force, and with this I “A miracle,” he said. He nodded of Mexico. He had an elementary was content. in approval, as if I had suggested it school education. The language he Kinchil first came to see me as a course of action. was speaking with his son was about a car wreck. He spoke little “Kinchil, I don’t do miracles,” Chontal, one of many Mayan lan- English and was accompanied by I said. “I’m a lawyer, not a saint.” guages still in use and one of sev- his son, Yum. The case was a minor Father and son exchanged con- eral he spoke. He was named after one involving a fender-bender. versation for a moment. I knew a Ah Kinchil, the Mayan god of the Three months later it was settled, little Spanish, having struggled to sun, and his son named after Yum, and he returned to my office to learn it for my immigration prac- the Mayan god of corn. Kinchil told sign a release and pick up a check tice, so I knew enough to know me that the sun and corn were, next for $2,000. He was a man of about that Spanish was not what they to his family, the two most impor- 50 then—short and muscular, with were speaking. tant things in his life. jet black hair and a complexion like Yum turned back to me. He had come to the United States mahogany. His kindly face was “My father says that by the inter- originally by crossing the bridge wrinkled and wizened beyond its cession of the Virgin of Guadalupe over the Rio Grande, between years by the power of the sun. you will get him papers.” Matamoros and Brownsville, When I gave him his check he “I thought your father was a Texas, making this passage in the pushed it back across the table nonbeliever,” I said. back of a truck, buried under sev- to me and turning to his son, he “He believes in the Virgin of eral tons of milled sorghum with a raised his eyebrows. Guadalupe.” plastic breathing tube leading out “My father wants you to do one I thought for a moment. How of it to a hole in the side panel. more thing for him,” Yum said. do you frame legal advice at a He had returned to Chiapas only “He’s illegal. You probably know moment like this? three times in the 10-year period that, so he wants you to get him his “Yum, I’m not trying to be flip following—each time by taking a papers.” or disrespectful, but please tell bus to Albuquerque, New Mexico, Yum almost always spoke for your dad that immigration won’t then a second bus to the border, Kinchil. He was in his late 20s then. respond to intercessions by the then making contact with a coy- I knew him about as well as I Virgin of Guadalupe. At the pres- ote—the (questionably) human knew the father, as he accompanied ent time, he would need labor certi- kind—to lead him across to Ciudad his dad each time he came to my fication, which is only given when Juárez. Once in that city he hitched office. At one time he too had been there’s a scarcity of workers for a his way south to his village, a undocumented but he had obtained particular job. As you know, there journey that took him about three a graduate business degree and got are many landscapers out there.” weeks. The return journey took permission to work and now he Yum spoke to his dad again, him as long. was marrying a girl from Norcross; then turned back to me. When they left my office I went so he had covered his bases and a “He wants you to try.” back to my chair behind the desk green card would be coming to him I sighed. and sat staring at the $500 check soon. He ran a food distribution “Yum, do you understand the son had written to me. The company and was one of my suc- how difficult it will be? Perhaps price of happiness, it seemed. I cessful immigration cases. Kinchil, impossible.” hated taking money from people on the other hand, remained “I understand,” Yum said, “but when I had no confidence that I undocumented, worked as a gar- if you try it will make him happy.” could help them. After a while of dener and spoke little English. This I considered for a moment. pondering whether I shouldn’t just was not unusual. He was the man “All right,” I said. I pushed the write Kinchil an apologetic letter operating the leaf blower, the man $2,000 check back across the desk and enclose the check, I decided to who knelt in the flower beds in the to him. “Give me a retainer of $500 at least start the process. When it office parks. Having no opportu- and I’ll look into it. Let me get failed, I would send him his money nity for conversation, he had little some forms for him to sign and I’ll back. I took a new file folder from opportunity to learn. get the information I need.” the drawer and put the sheets of I pushed the check back across By the time they left the office paper with Kinchil’s information the table to him. I knew a lot more about Kinchil and the $500 check into it. On a yel- “I don’t mean to be demeaning,” Gutierrez, more than I had needed low post-it note I wrote “Miracle I said, “but the chances of getting to know for his car wreck case. He File” and attached it to the file. I 34 Georgia Bar Journal left the file on the corner of the I envied Kinchil in the strength $1,500?” I asked her. “What could desk where it waited to be formally of his belief no matter how irratio- you possibly get for that?” opened by my secretary. nal it seemed to me. For that alone She shrugged. That night I was putting my I would work hard to get him “I’m a teacher,” she said, “not a kids to bed. I had a Rand McNally results. Perhaps I was beginning to realtor.” World Atlas which served most believe in miracles. Which reminded me of my state- of its natural life as a coffee table ment to Kinchil: “I’m a lawyer, not book, but often the kids would a saint.” beg me to open it and go through In the weeks that followed I countries with them, telling them researched his case thoroughly but about the places and people, such could find no grounds to support For some reason, I couldn’t let as I knew.

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