Out had gone St. Patrick and St. Bridget3 and the ten thousand pale virgins of the North, and into her had entered this dark one who had blood in her veins and a close connection with people.
Where the windshield angled in the middle and the center of support went up, sitting on top of the dashboard was a small metal Virgin of Guadalupe2 painted in brilliant colors. Her rays were gold and her robe was blue and she stood on the new moon, which was supported by cherubs. This was Juan Chicoy’s connection with eternity. It had little to do with religion as connected with the church and dogma, and much to do with religion as memory and feeling. This dark Virgin was his mother and the dim house where she, speaking Spanish with a little brogue, had nursed him. For his mother had made the Virgin of Guadalupe her own personal goddess. Out had gone St. Patrick and St. Bridget3 and the ten thousand pale virgins of the North, and into her had entered this dark one who had blood in her veins and a close connection with people.
